Fandom: FMA
Title: Hiding From The Truth
Pairings: Elricest, Roy/Al
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, hard yaoi, angst

Author's Notes: AU

Word Count: 2,519

Status: Incomplete
Disclaimer: When pigs fly.

Summary: The Elrics' quest has ended, they are restored, and find a sweet and forbidden love. But when Ed begins to fear society's wrath, he pushes Al away and into the arms of another man.

Hiding From the Truth

Chapter 4

As soon as Al had broken free of his brother, he'd left as quickly as possible. Climbing the hill just outside the station, he stood there, watching the train pull away with his brother, and knew he'd just lost everything he ever loved. Finally alone, his strength drained away, and he gasped and sobbed, eyes so filled with tears he could barely see the train snaking away. When it was finally gone, so quickly, his legs gave out and he sank to the cold and frost bitten grass.

"Alphonse." Warm arms suddenly surrounded him.

Al knew that scent, that voice. "G... general M… mustang…" he stammered, barely able to speak through his tears, "I d…did it. I t…talked to him. I told him I was s… s… sorry. I did it…."

"Oh, Alphonse," Mustang sighed softly, his knees against the frozen ground, and he didn't care. He wrapped his greatcoat around Al too, and simply held him, stroking his honey blond hair until his ponytail was a mess, and his shuddering sobs had faded to hiccups.

"I told him I was sorry," Al went on, now that he'd ceased to cry so hard. "I swore to him that it would never happen again. And he was glad. Oh, he didn't say that, but I could see the relief in his eyes. God. What have I become?" And he bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood.

Mustang gave a soft cry of dismay, and whipped out his handkerchief and dabbed at the boy's bleeding lip.

Al batted it away. "He said it was only for now, but when I turn seventeen… well, I told him to not worry. I knew he was just saying that to ease my heart. Loving me to the end. How typical of him. Gives me everything, even his body, no matter what he might want. Well, those days are over."

Al stood up so suddenly; Mustang almost fell on his rear. "I need to go home, wash my face, and change my clothes." The boy began walking away at a faltering pace that obviously meant to be brisk. "I'm going to get a job, fix up the house, and when Niisan come homes again, I won't touch him. I'll make everything right between us."

Mustang hurried to catch up, walking beside him, and taking careful inventory of the boy out of the corner of his eye. Al was pale as death, his eyes reddened and hair dull. And he wasn't walking all that steadily. He looked so tired, and worn out. Had he slept at all last night? Somehow the man doubted it.

Suddenly, Al stopped dead and turned, his eyes filled with apprehension and his hand gripped Mustang's sleeve weakly. "S… sir? I feel funny. I feel…" And the boy's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he dropped like a stone. Mustang cursed as he barely caught him in time.

……………………………

Al came awake slowly, feeling sluggish and lethargic, something he seldom experienced. The pillow beneath his head was thick and fluffy and very comfortable, and the cool slick sensation of the sheets below his body was different than normal. And he was surrounded by the unmistakable scent of General Mustang, instead of Ed. He blinked his eyes and opened them slowly, a strange and very opulent room swimming into focus. Darkly paneled walls, heavy blue silk draperies covering what looked like an enormous window, the soft glow of a rose lamp on the cherry wood nightstand next to the far side of the bed. The one on the side he was laying was unlit. The bed was huge, four tall engraved newel posts, a thick blue satin quilt over a powder yellow fuzzy blanket, and he was laying between crisp white silk sheets. Across from him stood a massive roll top desk, the lid rolled back and papers littered its work surface. Sitting up shakily, for he still felt very dizzy and light headed, he saw the tall and broad armoire against the other wall. Where was he, and why was he here?

Then memory rushed over him, and he cringed. Ed was gone on his mission, and AL had lost everything dear to him. Even when Ed returned, and Al finally behaved towards him as a brother should, how could Ed ever forgive him for what he'd been doing to him since Al got his body back? Drawing in a shuddering breath, Al swiped at his leaking eyes with shaking fingertips. It was then that he noticed he was dressed in an oversized white short-sleeved shirt, his own shorts below them. With a gasp he fisted the front of the strange shirt that smelled so much like Roy Mustang. Strangely enough, the smell comforted him a little, even as the knowledge that Mustang knew what Al had become filled him with even more shame.

"Good, you're finally awake," Mustang's voice came from the foot of the bed.

With a squeak, Al's eyes darted towards him, seeing the man rising from an overstuffed chair by the door. The man was no longer dressed in his military blues, but wore a long sleeved white shirt and black slacks. Al didn't remember ever seeing the man dressed so casually before.

"S…sir? Where am I? The last thing I remember was walking away from the station, and…"

"You passed out, Alphonse," Mustang said softly, sitting on the side of the bed and lightly touching his hair. "And you've been asleep for over a day. I'm taking it you didn't sleep at all night before last, did you? And when was the last time you ate?"

"The night before the night before Ed left," Al whispered, gripping the front of his own strange shirt even more tightly.

"I thought as much. Ok, can you get up? You need to eat before you really get sick."

"I've been asleep for over a day?" Al was appalled. Obviously he was at the general's house. "I have to get up! I have to get a job and figure out what I'm going to do for…"

"Not today, you're not," Mustang said implacably. "Other than the getting up part. As you may have guessed, I brought you to my house. And here you will stay until I am assured that you will take better care of yourself. I know you've been running yourself ragged cooking and cleaning and running errands for your brother. For the next two or three days, you will do absolutely nothing that even remotely resembles work. You are going to rest and relax and have a little vacation. After that, I can help you with a job." When the boy opened his mouth to protest, Mustang held up his hand warningly. "Don't make me get all official here. You're fifteen years old and I'm not about to have you stay for days and weeks and sometimes months alone in that little house. You will stay here until your brother gets back. I've made arrangements for the newspaper and the mail to be forwarded here, and that things will be taken care of there while you're here. Please do not argue about this with me, Alphonse. My mind in quite made up. You passing out is proof that you haven't been taking care of yourself properly. So I will do that for you until you start doing it for yourself."

"O…okay, sir," Al said softly, hugging his knees now. Al was a submissive little soul in certain aspects, and he thrived under the control of a strong hand. It was why he and Ed got along so well together, because Ed had the strength to rule over him like the younger boy craved. But he was to find over the next few days that Ed's strength had no real direction, now that their quest was over. Ed's strength had been sporadic and ungoverned. And the firm hand that Al had needed in bed had been lost in Ed's inability to take a stand; either take his brother as his lover, or not. Which was why the relationship between the brothers had gone so sadly awry. Mustang's strength, however, was not ungoverned. It was firm, reliable, inflexible when it came to Al's well being. And despite the boy's embarrassment, shame and grief, he found himself opening to the man like a flower to the sun.

So Al got up out of the bed with shaky legs, allowed Mustang to steady him, and slipped on the robe, likewise oversized, that the man held out to him. He followed Mustang out of the bedroom, down the stairs and into the breakfast room, where he was soon served a delicious fluffy omelet, a small but tender steak, and fried potatoes. The meal was even made more delectable by the fact he didn't have to cook it himself. Mustang ate as well, and made sure the boy ate every bite of his meal, and drank down both a glass of milk and of orange juice. Al, unlike Ed, was not used to eating so much at one time, and could barely move after breakfast. He patted his food-swollen stomach and groaned.

"I told you I was getting fat already." Forgetting his grief for a moment, Al gave Mustang an aggrieved look. "Are you trying to fatten me up before you cook me, like in that children's fable?" With a grunt, Al got up. "I am probably too tough and stringy."

Mustang smirked, for the very first time, but it was a very different expression than the one he gave Ed. "Unlikely. I'm positive you would be tender and flavorful like a veal cutlet." And Al couldn't help but laugh.

They went into the study, where Mustang engaged the boy's mind in several games of chess. Al had played it a few times while in armor. There had been really not much open to him in that form, but he'd never played against Mustang before. The general was a blood thirsty, cut throat opponent and Al was hard pressed to win any of the games. And when the man finally put the board and pieces away, Al was shocked to see the sun was beginning to set. Even though he knew he'd woken in the afternoon, he was surprised the rest of the day had fled so quickly. And even more surprised to find that he was yawning. Again!

While Mustang went to check on dinner, Al curled up in a great big comfortable chair by the bay window, watching the reds of the sunset reflecting off the snow. And his pain caught up to him with a vengeance. His heart faltered as he remembered his sin.

When the man brought in two trays with baked potatoes, steaming peas and carrots, and pork chops, Al looked at his own with distaste. His eyes were red, but dry, and the man knew that the boy was grieving again.

"I know you're unhappy, Alphonse," he said softly, "and because of that you're not hungry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you at least eat a little of it. You will make yourself sick, and that would not make your brother happy, and you know it."

Al realized that Mustang was using Ed as a weapon and thought that it was dirty pool. But it was undeniable, so he choked down most of his meal, and satisfied the man's demands to eat.

While Mustang took the trays away again, Al struggled against his pain. He'd done so well, just before dinner. He'd not allowed the tears to fall, but now, staring out over the moonlit snow, he felt his resolve crumbling. He lowered his head and gave a soft choked cry. When he hurt like he was now, he felt he couldn't live with the shame of what he'd done to his brother, what he'd become. And when he thought about that, he was helpless to stop the tears.

Thus, when Mustang returned, he found the boy weeping so softly, so brokenly, and his heart cracked. Without a word, the man picked him up and carried him gently back to the bedroom. By the time he laid Al down on his big bed, the boy had finally stopped crying, and was clutching the front of Mustang's shirt desperately.

"Sir… don't go. Please. I… I don't want to be alone right now." In truth, Al was a little afraid of what he might do right now. He was so ashamed, so lost, so in pain that he feared he might do something stupid. And he dimly remembered his promise to the man; that before he did anything rash, come see him. Well, he was afraid that time had come. "I'm… scared…"

Mustang, looking down at the self-recrimination in the boy's eyes, understood, and felt a little scared himself. Alphonse had become so precious to him since the day Ed brought the boy's body back from beyond the gate in the living room downstairs. And he knew that if Al did something rash, he would never be able to live with himself afterwards. So he smiled and nodded, pulled off Al's robe and tucked the boy under the quilt. He kicked off his own shoes and climbed into the bed with him, holding the boy tightly against his body as once more Al was wracked with grief and pain and shame. Al was so tense, he sobbed and gasped and moaned so brokenly, clutched at Mustang with such desperation, that the man was afraid he would make himself sick with grief. He pet the boy's hair, kissed his wet and trembling mouth softly, and said the only thing he could think of. "I love you. Alphonse, I love you."

Al gave a great and shuddering gasp, choked back a sob, and then gave a long soft sigh as that young, tightly strung body suddenly relaxed and went limp in the man's arms. One final whimper, and then Al began to breath noisily as his terrible sobbing passed. Mustang continued to stroke his hair, reaching into his pants pocket for one of his gloves and then tenderly dried the boy's face. Al stared up at him, eyes huge and luminous in the moonlight, his breathing finally soft and even. When he opened his mouth, Mustang simply smiled tenderly, shook his head and laid a finger on the boy's mouth. Then he gave him another very soft, very light kiss, and tucked him closer to his body, breathing deeply and silently encouraging Al to do the same. Al's fingers finally relaxed their death grip on the back of the man's shirt, and he gave a hesitant stroke across that broad back. Then he gave one last quivering sigh, and soon was breathing softly in time with Mustang. The man held himself in check as he felt the boy sinking slowly into sleep.

"I love you." He whispered one last time, looking down into the slumbering beautiful face. And was stunned to realize he meant it.